Bro Effect
by TenyumeKasumi
Summary: A series using the Brotips at brotips dot com as prompts. Each fill has the potential to be about anything and everything - literally. Need I say more? Rated for language (mainly) though considering the amount of creative freedom, may include violence and innuendos as well.
1. Chapter 1

_#1 There's a 99% chance that you're awesome. Act like it._

"Shepard, look ou-!"

There was an ear-splitting crash and the sound of rending metal tortured their eardrums as the Mako ploughed right into the geth squad with reckless abandon. The first one, having been hit with the full force of the Mako at full throttle, smashed into pieces from the impact. A second was sent careening hundreds of feet along the Feros skyway, one geth arm missing and several metal parts flying scattered through the air. The Mako ran over a bump on the path, sending it into the air for a few moments before crashing back down on a third geth and throwing its occupants to painfully crash the tops of their heads against the vehicle's ceiling. Wrex grunted unappreciatively.

"Couldn't have done it more gently, could you Shepard?" he rumbled at the human woman at the wheel who quirked her lips in a smile as she put the tank in reverse, running over the geth again.

"Sorry Wrex, the awesome way is the way to do things."

Tali, apparently satisfied that none of her suit's tubing or outer layers had been damaged, spoke. "With all due respect Shepard, I don't think this… method very conven-"

"It's all right Tali, the chances of us failing this mission are one in a hundred." Shepard assured the quarian, changing the gears on the Mako. "Now we just have to- ah, damn it!"

Tali turned to look at the commanding officer who was applying increasing pressure on the accelerator but failing to receive a response from the tank other than a high pitched whirring. "What's wrong?"

"The damned thing – I think the geth parts underneath must have stuck the wheels or some-"

A final stomp, a final push – and the Mako was free. It shot out of whatever had it stuck in the first place and was speeding towards-

"SHEPARD!" screeched Tali as they zoomed towards the edge of the skybridge – the wrong edge. The edge with an endless, cloudy drop below. "SHEPARD, THE BRAK-!"

Too late. There was moment of silence as the Mako hung weightlessly in the air.

"Whoops." Shepard actually sounded sheepish. "Guess this time makes up that one percent."

The tank began its descent.

The last thing that was heard on the salvaged audio banks of a surviving geth was a furious krogan roar. "I'LL KILL YOU DEAD, SHEPARD!"

* * *

_#2 Contrary to popular belief, polo is not "gangster"._

Kaidan sighed contentedly as he pulled on a deep green polo shirt. Normally, officers were required to wear the standard issue Alliance T-shirts. But a little accident involving the Normandy's mammoth dry-cleaning unit and one of Liara's experimental research mishaps with the Prothean discs had fried the unit beyond the repair of even Tali. The ship lacked the tools to do so (the asari had then personally visited every single person on the ship, pleading for forgiveness with such large, tearful eyes that it was quickly granted). Shepard had announced that they would dock at the Citadel as soon as the next mission was over to have the dry-cleaning unit fixed. Until then, everyone on board was to survive on any spare clothes they had with them. Kaidan did not think badly of this at all. He actually welcomed it. He loved his polos and thought it a shame that he could only wear them while on shore leaves.

Though it was also pretty odd and somewhat funny to see the entire crew of the Normandy dress in an array of clothing. Chief Engineer Adams had been seen in slacks and a male tank top. Doctor Chakwas had taken to wearing retro pencil skirts and three-quarter sleeved blouses. Kaidan had also found out, much to his secret enjoyment, that Shepard owned plenty of form-fitting T-shirts and cargoes. Joker gleefully took full advantage of this opportunity to outfit himself in bermudas and show off his seemingly infinite collection of Hawaiian shirts from Earth. He must have them in every colour, Kaidan decided, as he one day walked to the cockpit to deliver the Normandy pilot a message from the tunic-and-jeans clad Pressley and found Joker grinning sardonically up at him with a blindingly traffic-cone orange – you guessed it, Hawaiian shirt. Then again, he couldn't talk – he had his own stash of polos in his possession after all.

Yes, it was very interesting and all. But work was work and it wasn't going to get itself done if the people who should be working held fashion parades and counted the number of Joker's assorted rainbow tops every day. Kaidan stretched and cracked his knuckles as he descended the staircase, heading for his work console. When he reached the bottom, the elevator doors opened with a smooth swoosh to reveal an armoured turian with blue face markings.

"Vakarian."

"Lieutenant."

Kaidan made to pass him and go to his console when a pointed stare stopped him. "Is something the matter, Vakarian?"

Garrus didn't answer immediately, choosing to instead stare at Kaidan's innocent green polo suspiciously as if it were a drug-smuggling merc. "Lieutenant, what is that you're wearing?" Kaidan's gaze also dropped to his shirt. "This? It's a kind of human shirt. We call it a polo."

Garrus frowned and cocked his head slightly. "Then why are you wearing it?"

'What?' The L2 biotic was taken aback by the question. What was so wrong about polos? "Because I find them comfortable. And I don't have anything else to wear anyway."

"But doesn't a polo mean you're a… what was that word you humans used? A… 'gangster'?"

'… What?!' "No! No, of course not! It's just a shirt! I mean – It's not- Where did you get that from?"

Garrus stared quizzically, looking thoroughly confused now but replied, "The Gunnery Chief Williams. She said that it was slang among your people to label 'gangsters' as 'polos'."

Ashley? But she of all people would know better-

Then he recalled the conversation he had with her the day before. Donning rugged jeans and a floral tube top (a gift from her sister, she had vehemently claimed), she had commented on him wearing yet another polo – yesterday's had been mustard yellow – and he had offhandedly told her he owned quite a number and that he only had polo shirts with him as spares. She immediately acquired a smirk on her face at that bit of information but he had thought nothing of it at the time. In retrospect…

The elevator doors glided open once more, and a hulking krogan slowly ambled out. Noticing the two, Wrex took in Kaidan's appearance; looking him up and down. Then met his gaze as he finally said, "I don't think your battlemaster would be very happy about you running with the rogue ones, human."

Kaidan raised a hand to massage his temples. Somewhere, the Gunnery Chief was cackling to herself as she cleaned out a sniper rifle's barrel.

* * *

_#3 If you notice her inbox is always cleared, perhaps you should reconsider her honesty._

"Commander! Commander Shepard! Could I have a moment of your time?"

Shepard paused on her way to the medical clinic on the Citadel, turning around to see the journalist Emily Wong running after them. Or at least, trying to run in the restrictive, standard dress that she wore.

The commanding officer of the Normandy SR-1 quirked her lips into a bemused smile. "Easy there, Ms. Wong. I'm not going to run away from you. You're not Al-Jilani."

Emily paused to catch her breath. "No, no. Of course not. I mean, of course you aren't. I mean-" she took a final gulp of air and straightened up, appearing flustered. "Sorry about that, Commader."

"Sorry? Huh, if you can move that fast in a dress, I'm sure the Alliance Navy would be more than happy to have you in their ranks. I swear, some of the recruits move so slowly in agility training that even their grandmothers in wheelchairs would overtake them."

A series of strangled noises followed by choked coughs sounded from Kaidan, which suspiciously sounded like he was fighting back laughter at Ashley's jibe. Emily took it in stride, grinning at the gunnery chief. "Nah, I don't think I can ever match up to you guys. I fight with articles and write-ups, not guns."

"Better than those pussies you see at bootcamp."

Shepard felt her face break out into a complete smile. Her posture relaxed. "All right, that's enough Chief. Is there something you wanted to speak to me about, Ms. Wong?"

"Oh, right! Erm, I hope I don't sound rude Commander, but I haven't received any replies from the messages I sent you…"

Uh-oh. Shepard had forgotten about those. Schooling her face into a perfectly perplexed expression, she asked "What messages?"

Looks like she might be doing some running herself after all.

"I sent you a message a few weeks back and another last week when you didn't respond. It was a request to have an interview with you. Remember, you did offer me one…"

"Oh right, of course! Hm, I don't remember seeing anything like that but let me check…" Shepard trailed off as she brought up her omni-tool to access her inbox. She entered a few prompts, revealing her empty mailbox before shaking her head. "Strange, they're not here."

"Must be a message service malfunction of some sort. Rare, but they do happen every now and then," supplied Kaidan.

"Oh, that's fine then. I mean, it's not your fault anyway."

Ashley took one look at the slightly crestfallen reporter and felt sorry for her. "Hey skipper, we only have Dr. Michel's to go to before we're free for the rest of the day so why don't you have that interview after-"

"Actually, we do have something else to do after getting those med supplies for the Normandy." Shepard cut in abruptly with an apologetic tone.

Ashley and Kaidan stared. This was news to them. "We do?"

"Yeah. We have to… have to… er, go visit Udina."

A moment of silence followed. "But why? Is… er, something wrong?" asked Kaidan worriedly. Ashley was open about her scepticism, frown on her face. Sure, Udina always requested – demanded – that Shepard see him for briefings during every return to the Citadel. But nobody, including Shepard, had ever given a damn before. Why now?

"Hell if I know what that old crow wants. All I know is that it's urgent. So we really should go before he gets his speedos in a knot." Shepard turned to Emily. "I'm sorry Ms. Wong, maybe some other time?"

Emily quickly regained her senses enough to answer. "Oh! Oh of course, Commader! Any time you're free, just let me know!"

Shepard allowed herself a smile. "Sure thing. See you around, then. Come on Chief, Lieutenant. Best we get moving"

Later that night, back on her quarters aboard the Normandy, Commander Shepard collapsed into her workstation chair with an exhausted sigh. It had taken hours before Udina would let them go, berating them for 'causing an outrage!' at every turn of their mission. Predictably, the 'briefing' was just an opportunity for him to gripe about their incompetencies and the political problems they caused for the Alliance. In the end, they had only managed to get away when Anderson had stepped in and distracted Udina with some paperwork or other while Shepard and her team crept towards the door.

The Spectre groaned as she sunk lower into her chair. The ordeal was ear-bleedingly long and dry but it had been necessary to plausibly escape Emily Wong. With a sigh, she summoned her omni-tool and accessed her message box again, already knowing what she would find there.

There was an angry message from Udina, demanding another briefing session as he was 'not done with you yet!' and admonishing her for leaving his office without being dismissed. There was another from Conrad Verner (again); he knew she was in the Citadel (somehow) and asked if she was free to meet him for a drink. Finally, she reached a mail whose sender was marked as 'Emily Wong, Alliance News Network'.

Another resolute sigh escaped her lips before she opened it with a jab of her finger.

Commander,

Since the previous mails didn't seem to reach you, I'm trying to send this to you again. I hope it makes it through the system this time.

Anyway, I was thinking about that interview with you that you offered me after you got me Fist's OSD. A common approach to the article would be to ask you about your deeds and doings as the first human Spectre and the space adventures you have everyday but people have already read that kind of story millions of times. Instead, I was thinking of a more personal approach.

What I mean to say is, there has to be something going for you in the love sector of your life. I mean look at you, you're attractive, powerful and walk every step with a confidence that says you mean business. Every male back on Earth goes crazy over you! And even some aliens too, actually. Like I overheard a group of asari talking about you the other day in the Upper Wards. You're popular! Practically a celebrity! People would love it if they heard about your love life. I know fraternisation is not encouraged but everyone knows it still happens. And it's especially dramatic!

But of course, if you don't want to talk about that. It's fine. I could just easily do the interview about something more generic. I know it's a lot lot ask, but at least give it some thought. Please?

Hope to see you soon,

Emily Wong, Alliance News Network.

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose as she wiped the inbox clean with a swipe of her hand, leaving no traces of the messages. She powered down the omni-tool before getting up to go to the bathroom. She just hoped that by continuously avoiding her, the reporter would get the message. She felt bad denying her like this, when the request was so simple, but Shepard didn't think she could last through the whole interview without slipping up.

She sighed again for the hundredth time that day. Keeping their relationship a secret was proving harder than she thought. She entered her personal bathroom and closed the door. Turning around to face the only other occupant, she smiled, remembering why it was all worth it.

"So, where were we?"

* * *

_#4 We get it, you like to drink. No one needs to hear you repeat it four times a day._

"So? So? Did you get it? Huh? Huh?"

Wrex growled irritably at Joker's incessant pestering as he awaited his turn for medical treatment in the Normandy's med bay. "Shut up, human. Or I just might break those puny legs of yours like the toothpicks they are. "

"Come on big guy, cut me some slack here. Unlike you, I at least know what the good stuff is and where to get it-"

"Yeah, sure." scoffed Shepard grumpily from her position on the infirmary bed. "Banned substances that can only be found in a corrupted shithole like Noveria. Who would have tho- OUCH!"

Dr. Chakwas frowned grimly as she straightened up from mending Shepard's torn leg – which had been caught in the pincers of a rachni soldier down at the hot labs. "I've patched up what I could and gotten rid of most of the toxins from your system. Nevertheless, I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed here for a few more days, Commander. Rachni venom looks like nasty stuff and since nobody has actually had a chance to study them before – or rather, most of those who have are already dead – I'm not taking any chances."

"Great, just great." mumbled Shepard as she roughly let her head fall back into the pillows. Wrex grunted his thanks as Dr. Chakwas began working on his wounds.

"Yeah, yeah I feel sorry for you and all, Commander. Get well soon and yada yada yada. Now can I have it?"

Liara, noticing Shepard's dangerous expression, cut in quietly, "Mr. Moreau, I don't think now is the time-"

"Oh hell yeah, it is the time! I've been waiting too long for this! Five years! The last time I drank that stuff was five freaking years ago! I can't live without it anymore! Come on Commander, have some pity on a dying man, will you?"

"Oh shut up before I actually make sure you're dead." Shepard snapped, wishing she had her pistol with her. Reaching under the bed for her store of loot from the mission, she grabbed something and threw it at Joker's head. "There, take it. Just… take it. And go."

The pilot caught it expertly in mid-air with one hand. "Aw, only one can? I expected more from the legendary Commander Shepard." Joker said in a half pretend disappointed voice.

"Joker, just leave before I let Wrex eat you."

"I guess I could do with a light snack." rumbled the krogan battlemaster in agreement as he turned his reptilian eyes on the pilot.

Joker's eyes twinkled in good humour as he stepped out of the med bay. "Not happening, big guy. I wouldn't taste good anyway – bones are too brittle. Too many bone chips, you know. Nasty stuff, gets caught in your throat." then he grinned at his commander lying prone on the bed. "Thanks, Commander! You're the best!"

The door slid closed behind him and Joker's crows of delight were heard as he made his way back to the cockpit upstairs.

Liara turned toward Shepard with that ever-curious look in her eye. "Commander, just what was that drink Mr. Moreau was so enthusiastic about?"

Shepard closed her eyes and exhaled as she finally had some peace. "It's a human beverage called 'Sprite'. A kind of soda. It used to be really common on Earth a long time ago."

"When humans first established diplomatic ties with the Citadel, several of the Citadel races took a liking to human soda and it became a big hit for a while. Particularly with asari." explained Dr. Chakwas as she finished stitching up the gash in Wrex's forearm and liberally applied medi-gel for good measure. "A little less than a century ago however, many health boards in various star systems outlawed the beverage as the sugar content was so high it was deemed to be of hazardous levels. Since then, soda or any similar kind of carbonated beverage is illegal in Citadel space." The grey-haired woman moved to Liara, examining the cut on her brow. "Despite its banned status, there have still been avenues of smuggling it into a number of systems. Noveria, as you know, is a popular place to find smuggled goods."

"Ah, I see." said Liara, now understanding. "So Mr. Moreau had asked you to get some for him."

Shepard grumbled on. "That ass could have been more grateful. Well, could have been worse. At least it wasn't drugs…"

* * *

_#5 If you feel smugly superior because you've been on tumblr since before it was promoted, you should probably find a hobby._

Conrad Verner smiled to himself, grinning broadly, as he read the news report.

Commander Shepard, first human to be made Spectre by the Citadel Council.

Yes. Yes. YES! He rose from the table and punched the air in victory. He knew she could do it. He knew she had it in her. Ever since the day he first saw her featured in a documentary on the rumoured list of potential human Spectre candidates the Council were deliberating on. He read her public files, about how she had survived the attack on Akuze when everyone else had perished. How she fought her battles and made it out top in all of them. How she rose through the ranks in her determined, fiery manner. From then on, he had placed complete faith in her abilities and doggedly followed any bits of news about her that come out to the public feed.

He had proceeded to make a fansite on the extranet, proclaiming that she would become the first to represent their race on the Council's most elite force. Only a handful had joined his cause. An overwhelming majority had called him a moron with ridiculous hopes and wishful thinking. 'Do you see the Council even taking an interest in us humans for Spectre candidacy yet? 'Course not, they prioritise their own kind first. Besides, of all people, why do you think it's Shepard? This is too far-fetched. You're absurd.'

Hah, thought Conrad, this'll show them.

He jumped, almost flew, to the household extranet terminal, wanting to update his fansite with the momentous news. Logging in, he found something that made him leap to his feet again with a whoop and a clap. With the news of Shepard's promotion to Spectre, there were an additional two thousand new members – and the numbers were still rising by the minute!

Yes! He could see it now – Shepard, the galactic hero, saviour to all, the face of humankind, travelling across Citadel space and back in her duty of serving justice-

"Conrad, just what is all that noise?"

The ecstatic man turned to see his groggy wife in her pyjamas step into the room, rubbing her eyes in the glare of the terminal in the unlit room. "It's two in the morning, what are you-"

"Honey! You won't believe this, but Shepard is a Spectre!" crowed Conrad energetically, a behaviour that was a stark contrast to his wife. "Can you believe it? And look at my fansite on Shepard, honey! More than two thousand new members gained overnight! Two thousand! It's becoming a real hit on the extranet now! The publicity for Shepard is going to be great! Isn't this fan-"

"All right, that's it! I've had enough of this!"

Conrad's face fell. "H-Honey?"

"It's always 'Shepard this,' or 'Shepard that,' or 'Look at what happened on my fansite of Shepard today'! I've had enough, Conrad! And unless you agree to grow up and get a real hobby, I am not speaking to you!" And with that, the love of his life stomped out of the living room and back to their bedroom, slamming the door behind her. And locking it.

Looks like he would be sleeping on the couch for the remainder of the night tonight.

Conrad sighed, sinking into said couch, all exuberance gone from his posture. Had he said something wrong to upset her? He hadn't meant to. He supposed he had to make it up to her somehow to get her to talk to him again.

And then, as with the fansite, the idea hit him suddenly and unexpectedly but still sounded spectacular.

This was how later that day, Shepard found herself talking to an excitable blonde man as she made her way to the Lower Markets. "Hey, I know you're probably busy, but do you have time for a quick autograph?"

Man, she's going to love this when I show this to her!

* * *

**A/N: Dafaq did I just write? :D**

**So, I started a new series. Actually, this is my first time writing a fanfiction for a non-anime/manga category. I hope it's up to mark.**

**I was browsing the fics for the Mass Effect Kink Meme on LJ when I came across some fills written based on a few 'brotips'. That's when I discovered the site (brotips dot com) and amused myself for half an hour. And then I thought, why doesn't somebody use ALL the tips?**

**Idea was born.**

**Alright, let me talk about the relevant stuff instead of my rambling. Like, maybe explaining what's going on here.**

**The fics written here are written with each brotip as a prompt. No tip can be skipped, every one must be filled. There will be five tips to a chapter (the initial plan was 50 or 25 but after seeing the length of each tip...). As there will undoubtedly be some tips I do not understand, I will be interpreting them in my own manner and writing them out as such (for example, I am very sure I got the polo thing wrong but eh, whatever).**

**As I have completed ME1 but yet to play ME2, the fills are written in the ME1 universe for now.**

**The fills are written with female Shepard in mind, I'm trying to avoid giving her any description whatsoever to allow room for everyone's own vision of Shepard. Do note however that I may sometimes insert male Shepard instead of FemShep, in which case I will put a note right after the prompt but before the fill. Also, I actually ship Garrus x FemShep and MaleShep x Tali but since neither are available in ME1, any fills with a relationship theme will remain as ambiguous as possible regarding Shepard's love interest to allow for any partner of the reader's imagination. This will likely change once I start ME2 though.**

**A little talk about the first fill for anyone who cares; I actually thought of using my MaleShep as the character for the first fill (my MaleShep is named German and my FemShep is Vanessa - no, not being racist but thumbs up if you get the joke). My MaleShep is somewhat of a derp since he was my first profile and ME is the first shooter game I ever played so I kept screwing up here and there (he does stuff like run around trees in the Citadel and put away his gun while he is under fire). Actually, the scene described in the fill was my first ME death ever. Yeah, instead of dying in battle, I died because I drove off a skybridge. Pretty epic death for a Spectre. Way to go, German. But in the end, I settled for FemShep because it will be her I will be using for the majoirty of fills anyway.**

**Hm, I think I've said all I've wanted to say for now. Actually, I'm pretty sure I forgot something. Ah, oh well. I'll address it later I suppose.**

**Hope to see you around, and happy N7 Day! :3**

**- Kasumi**

**14/3/2013: Corrected some mainly grammatical errors. Thanks for pointing them out, Pie!**


	2. Chapter 2

_#6 If you don't stand by your standards, you don't have any._

Lorik Qui'in never did understand his own fascination with carpeting. It was a fairly new thing, something humankind had introduced once a truce had been called after the Relay 314 Incident and civil trades had tentatively began between the two races. For turians, it was either you hated it or you loved it and Lorik knew which category he belonged in. His father however, did not share the same sentiment. His old man scoffed at the soft, fabric floor covers, insisting that they were eyesores and, given their trip-inducing ability, accidents waiting to happen. But Lorik found that he rather liked the feel of fuzzy/furry cushion-like softness under his turian toes. Which was why he had taken the liberty to order several deluxe Persian carpets from a human extranet site for his office. Nothing but the best for his pampered, turian soles.

One had to admit, he thought smugly as he walked around his office now tastefully floored with the luxurious things, they added just the right touch to the drab room. It no longer looked like any of Noveria's other boring grey, washed out-looking halls and interior. And sometimes when he was sure he was alone during lunch break or in the wee hours of the morning before anyone was in, Lorik would remove his shoes so he could pad his feet upon the carpets and feel the natural, woollen fibres between his toes. It was a guilty pleasure he indulged in almost every time the opportunity presented itself.

Which was why he had not been happy when Anoleis had had him taken out of the picture and sneakily gotten Captain Matsuo's men to ransack Synthetic Insights. Of course, his main gripe was about his removal from office and the precious data that could have put the administrator of the executive board in a very tight position indeed. But he still worried over his treasured, Persian carpets. He hoped fervently that the investigators – intruders – wouldn't think that the evidence could be hidden within the carpets and end up tearing them to shreds. Lorik shuddered – he _really_ hoped that wouldn't happen. He had taken a real shine to the royal blue, oblong one on the corridor of the second floor.

So when salvation arrived in the form of the Citadel Spectre Commander Shepard, he leapt at the chance.

The commander seemed wary at first, though rather agreeable to his proposal once he offered his garage pass in return for clearing out his office for him. Agreement reached, he watched as the odd motley trio of a human, turian and asari left his table and headed for the lifts. As he watched them leave, he gave them a parting shot, "Oh and do try to keep the bloodstains off the carpet."

He should have known better than to hope.

When Shepard returned with the good news, he was elated. Sure, it was dampened somewhat by the commander convincing him to use his data to testify against Anoleis but at least he had his office – and his carpets – back. As he rode up the elevator to Synthetic Insights, he couldn't help but flutter his mandibles in suppressed glee – he couldn't wait to get there so he could prance barefoot around the place – no, Lorik Qui'in does _not_ prance and no one knows anything_. Anything._

He was not prepared for the carnage that greeted him when he exited the elevator and the automatic glass doors at the end of the corridor slid open to admit him into the space.

His Persian carpets. His _carpets. _Blood and gore. On every. Single. One.

He mourned and moped for weeks after that, until the people around him finally got sick of his whining and told him to just buy new ones. Eventually, he did do so albeit reluctantly. It was like trying to replace a deceased best friend – they may come close, but it was never the same.

Still, the turian felt slightly heartened at the fact that one of those blood stains were probably all that was left of a certain irritating human by the name of Kaira Stirling. The bare-faced she-dog had it coming to her.

* * *

_#7 Bitches love smiley faces._

Tali seemed to straighten up as they entered Chora's Den. Quarian dancers were usually held in high regard – it was difficult art to master in their culture. But to see practically naked groups of asari flaunting all their curves, slinking about and shaking sensually to the music as males of all races drooled over them was a rather… eye-opening experience. Perhaps not all dancers were given such high regard.

She heard Kaidan make a nervously appreciative comment about the view and gave him a strange look – not that he could see her face but the turning of her head in his direction was enough to make him blush to the roots of his hair and look away abashedly. Tali could have sworn that he was giving their commander furtive glances from the corner of his eye but maybe she was just overthinking things.

Shepard ignored the provocatively-dressed asari even as one made a 'come on' sign to her. "You guys just wait here, I'll go talk to that guard over there and tell him about that idiot Finch."

"We'll be right here, Shepard." Tali responded immediately.

"Aye, aye, ma'am." said Kaidan rather quickly. Hm.

Shepard walked away, calling out to the turian guard to get his attention. They stood there for a minute, the silence between them thankfully not awkward. Until an asari decided to get up close and a bit too personal with the L2 biotic. The human stammered and took a step back as the asari's graceful hands began wandering all over his face and upper body and leaned into his personal space to whisper something in his ear. Tali watched amusedly as his face turned an impressive shade of red and he tried to reject the dancer's advances. Were those movements really sexually appealing to human males? Interesting.

As Kaidan blushingly tried to get his point across – he was not interested, thank you very much – Tali did not realise she was garnering some attention of her own.

Two young soldiers, obviously fresh Alliance recruits, were snickering in a corner and elbowing one another in the ribs as each pointed out the only quarian in the room. Several bright purple bottles littered their small table. It was obvious they had had one – two – perhaps five drinks too many. They spoke in harsh whispers to each other.

"Hey, check out th' quarian, mate. I say she's got quite the bod."

"Damn, those quarians got it righ' when they made those suits. Just look at those curves! They don' hide anythin' do they?"

More lecherous snickers.

"Hey mate, a hundred credits says you can't cop a feel by th' end o' th' night."

"Th' hell? A quarian, bud? You outta your mind?"

"Why th' hell not? Listen, at least it ain't a salarian I'm askin' you to – "

"Aw, jus' shut up, Ben."

"It don't matter if it's human, asari, quarian… at least they have boobs."

"Alright, alright – jus' shut up already."

"Awright, that's m' man! Go get off your ass and talk to her, then! Hey, what the hell you doing?"

Ben grinned tipsily as he fiddled with his omni-tool, his drinking buddy frowning at him from across the table. "Hey mate, they could be leavin' any time soon. You better hurry up n' go- "

"Dude, how d'you think she'll react if some random guy just comes and dumps himself all over her? No man, you wanna get some, you gotta do it nice n' proper – just the way women like it." He grinned as he tracked her omni-tool via the wireless interface (it was pretty obvious which was her's, she was the only quarian around) and began hacking it. Ah, the perks of being an Alliance engineer.

"What're you doin' mate?"

Ben tapped at the omni-tool with a flourish and grinned up at his friend with drunken triumph. "I sent her message wit' a smiley face. Bitches love smiley faces. She'll b' all over me before y'know it – get your wallet ready, Jones."

"Ain't seein' no money till I be seein' that you seein' somethin' t'night, mate." Said Jones as he knocked back another gulp of… whatever he was drinking.

There was ping as Tali's omni-tool lit up, distracting her from watching Kaidan flusteredly attempting to pry off the asari's hands from his waist. She glanced down quizzically at it, to find that someone had managed to hack her omni-tool's encryption to leave a personal message on the main screen.

She quietly cursed herself for being so lax as to not updating and fine-tuning her omni-tool's programs recently. But she had been rather busy after all – going from running away from Saren with compromising evidence against him to downright chasing his turian ass around the galaxy.

Tali nevertheless allowed herself to skim through the message. Updated or not, whoever hacked into her omni-tool must have been known what he was doing.

'Hey there, sweetheart. 3 Care to have a chat? I can make it worth your while. ;) '

Outwardly, the quarian showed no reaction. But under her mask, she could feel her left eye twitch. Tali was not sure whether to be angry or to laugh.

Well, this anonymous sender wasn't the only one with superb hacking skills. She was good – better even. Probably the best. Her fingers flew across the orange screen as she entered commands and prompts. Successfully hacking the mysterious sender's own omni-tool, she found his location – mere feet away. She glanced up without moving her head. Directly across the room, she could make out two young human men chortling as they sent periodic looks at her.

Fine. Two – or three – could play at this game. After all, she wasn't known as the Normandy's master engineer for nothing. Tapping away at the omni-tool, she began composing a reply.

At the sound of the ping of an omni-tool, the two soldiers crowded around it.

"Whoa mate, she actually sent somethin' back? What'd it say?"

"Hang on t' yer horses, I'm openin' it, I'm openin' it."

There, the message flashed across the orange screen.

01001110 01101001 01100011 01100101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01111001 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101111 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00101100 00100000 01100010 01110101 01110100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101111 01101011 00100000 01101100 01101001 01101011 01100101 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01110011 01101000 01101111 01110100 01100111 01110101 01101110 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 01100110 01110010 01100001 01101001 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110101 01110011 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110100 00101110 00100000 01000010 01101111 01110011 01101000 00100111 01110100 01100101 01110100 00101110

* * *

_#8 Don't be so reserved. She's not going to flirt with a brick wall all night._

"Just a moment, please. The Consort will be with you shortly."

The old turian rumbled in assent and the asari acolyte – whose name he had already forgotten – beamed at him and departed, the door sliding shut behind her with a smooth swoosh.

Grumbling to himself, he leaned back on the couch and proceeded to glare at the opposite wall as if it had done him some great wrong. What was he thinking, coming here of all places? He, General Septimus Oraka, retired turian military, coming to see the Citadel's asari Consort? Hah. The idea was preposterous; laughable – if it weren't so true.

Discontent with retired life and longing for the familiar routine of the military, Septimus had taken to lounging around the Citadel in a mopey manner. His regular acquaintances – mostly former comrades in arms – had finally gotten tired enough of his sulking that they decided that he needed something to occupy his time, take his mind off retirement. Why they seemed to think that sending him for a visit to Sha'ira was a good idea, he did not know.

Heck, he didn't even know why he let them convince him to agree to this blasphemy.

Septimus tapped his fingers on the cushy armrest, alternating between two talons – tip, tap, tip, tap, tip, tap – forming a hypnotic metronome-rhythm. The noise resonated within the room, the simple sound loud in the tranquil silence. Tip, tap, tip, tap – his eyes darted to an ornate clock on the adjacent wall. Not too long had passed since the acolyte's departure. Should he take this chance and leave? There was nothing to stop him from doing so. The money for this visit wasn't his anyway – and it would teach those nosey pricks not to set him up for anything so ridiculous ever again.

Tip, tap, tip, tap, tip, tap – All right, this was about as far as it went –

Septimus had already risen half out of the couch when the door slid smoothly open once more. The turian quickly dropped back into his seat and snapped his head toward the door. Standing in front of it, smiling sweetly at him with soft blue lips and bright, amicable eyes was Sha'ira, the asari Consort of the Citadel.

"Good day, General. It is a pleasure to see you." She greeted warmly as she entered the room and approached the couch. The doors slid closed behind her. "Is there anything I can get you? A drink perhaps? Not to worry, I do have some fine dextro-friendly wine in my collection – "

"That will be unnecessary, thank you." he replied stiffly. He hadn't meant to come across as unfriendly – no matter how foul his mood, there were certain standards of behaviour that he as a turian general was expected to practice. But the tensing of his muscles and the anxiety in his mind had made themselves known when she had walked into the room. Oh Spirits, this felt so awkward. How was he even going to walk out of this room alive?

She still had that warm smile on her face despite his tone of voice. "Of course, General. Whatever you say."

For lack of a better response, he merely grunted and looked the other way – mandibles twitching erratically. She stifled a giggle. He shot her a sideways glare, albeit half-heartedly. Spending his entire life dedicated to the military had prevented him from having a life outside it and as such, he had no idea how to act around women. Sure, he had female turians serving under him before and even had a few he had reported to but those relationships were strictly professional and on a soldier to soldier level. Well, there were the 'blowing off stem' sessions but those didn't really mean anything –

"General, I know you must feel very foolish right now," the asari's rich voice drops a few octaves, speaking quietly to him. "Please know that you need not strain yourself in my presence and that within these walls, you may say or do whatever you wish."

Septimus glances at her sideways, regarding her with one avian eye. "Who are you calling foolish?" he tries to sneer, but his voice holds no malice.

She merely gazes calmly back at him, that sweet smile never leaving her face. "Why, not you of course, General."

He snorts, ignoring her playful jibe as he settles an elbow on the armrest and rests his chin on his hand. "I just want some peace and quiet."

"Of course, General Oraka."

Silence reigns over the room for the next hour, neither of them saying a word. Septimus finds himself gradually relaxing and the tenseness of both mind and body leaving him. The silence isn't so bad; quiet, like one shared between friends. Eventually he allows her to sit closer and pour him a drink – all without saying a word. He finds that he rather enjoys her company. Most people he knew were loud and obnoxious and probably couldn't last ten minutes in solitary confinement. But she, she was tolerable.

When his time is almost up, he drains the remainder of his drink and rises from his seat. She does the same – though with a lot more gracefulness, he notices.

"Thank you for coming here, General." There is sincerity in her tone as turns her captivating eyes to him. "I have enjoyed your company very much."

Septimus is momentarily frozen by her mesmerising aura but hides it with a scoff. "Hmph. I doubt it. How can you? All we did we just sit there and do nothing."

"On the contrary General. I beg to differ." she says smilingly as she escorts him to the door. "You make for very interesting company."

The door glides open and Septimus steps out, thinking he would be glad to leave and thought he had been looking forward to it. Instead, now he was having second thoughts…

"Farewell, General. I hope your time here has been enjoyable."

He doesn't say anything, merely nods in acknowledgement before turning and climbing down the stairs towards the exit.

Just before he steps out the door, he stops at the help desk where the acolyte who had shown him in now sat. He turns and addresses her, "Make an appointment for me – same time next week."

She looks up at him from her work, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Of course, General Oraka."

* * *

_#9 Man the fuck up._

"You're kidding me. You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Not kidding, buddy. We'll just have to rough it out."

"No way. No way am I buying this. Hey! Hey, Rupert! What is this stuff supposed to be?!"

The mess sergeant looked up from his post at the kitchenette, pausing in the middle of wiping some glasses with a clean rag. "That's fish and chips right there, stone eyes. Gotta get protein somehow. And fish is good for you, Hawthorne – 'least it can give you some brains to put in that cavity between your ears."

Goldstein sighed, raising a hand to her shaking head as Hawthorne retorted, "Fish and chips?! This looks like something off of the Mystery Meat Tuesday menu back in basic! And you call these fries? They taste chalky!"

"It's not my fault all we've got are ration packs that look like they've been deep-frozen twenty times over and so cheap they might as well have been free." Gardner shot back sulkily. "'Least you could do is stop complain 'bout it, be glad you even have any food and keep your ass shut."

"Yeah well, the food tastes like ass anyway." grumbled an equally sulky Hawthorne.

Gardner clicked his tongue impatiently, returning to his cleaning. "Arh, quit your whinin', Princess or it'll be vorcha meat you be getting next." He started stacking the glasses in towers, five at a time, and stowing them away in the storage unit below the counter top.

Hawthorne turned slowly back to look morosely at his plate of food, then turned his pleading eyes to Goldstein. "Please don't make me eat this. I'll die from food poisoning."

"I heard that!" came Gardner's muffled shout from under the counter.

Goldstein sighed, picking up her fork. "Just man up and chew, Hawthorne."

_#10 If you have to try to impress people, I'm afraid I have some bad news._

"… and I was the only one to make it out alive," finished Zaeed, leaning back in his chair with all the swagger of someone who'd won an Olympic gold medal. Legion's face plates shifted slowly, as if digesting what it had heard.

"That was a remarkable escapade, Hunter-Massani. Based on your recount, we calculate that chances of survival stood at only 2.3276 percent. Rounded down. Your escape was a great accomplishment."

"You got that goddamn right," snarled Zaeed, leaning back further so that the chair balanced on two legs. "Bastards never knew what was coming."

There was a soft hiss from the elevator and the click of heels echoed in the mess hall before Samara appeared around the corner. Her face was neutral and tranquil, as it always seemed to be. Her back ramrod straight and perfect posture that almost looked painful to maintain. She walked through the mess hall with her calm, even steps and slowed to a stop at the table occupied by the mercenary and the geth.

Zaeed didn't quite like her – hell, he didn't like her from the start. Prissy little bitch swinging that 'Justicar Code' thing around like a damn zealot. And then she spoke, and he remembered he didn't like her damned posh voice either.

"Mr. Massani, Legion." she greeted simply. Zaeed merely grunted, not acknowledging her presence in any other way. Legion turned its flashlight head toward her – Zaeed momentarily wondered if weirdos like her were capable of being blinded.

"Justicar-Samara," it said, "We presume that you have come here to obtain your thrice-daily sustenance?"

Bloody geth talked weird too.

"That is correct, Legion. I thought an early lunch before meditation would do me some good."

Legion raised his face plates to their fullest height and Zaeed was forcefully reminded of a child whose face had brightened up at the prospect of a new toy. Wait a minute, had he just compared a geth to a human child? Bah, he must be going senile. Maybe it was time to seriously consider blowing up Omega as part of his retirement plan…

"Would Justicar-Samara be hospitable to our request of an 'exchanging fucking battle stories' session?"

The justicar paused, her silence and lengthy stare expressing her surprise. Zaeed was grinning on the inside – finally, some emotion on that stone face of her's.

"Where did you learn that word, Legion? Beginning with F."

Zaeed took a swig from his flask – he always prepared and carried his own drinks. Being on a Cerberus ship, you never knew when someone would sneak some fucking arson in your beverage while you weren't looking.

"We first heard the word 'fucking' – root word 'fuck' – used exactly in the previously stated phrase by Hunter-Massani 46 minutes and 29 seconds ago when we were invited to share data on previous records of successful missions. We perceived this as an opportunity to improve our data network and expand knowledge on organic hive behaviour, so we accepted. Since then, further extranet research has shown that the word 'fuck' is believed to have first been used during the 15th century but only began its rise in social culture in the 20th century."

Bleeding piece of scrap metal, thought Zaeed. Was it really talking about this shit?

"'Fuck', depending on the context, can lead to slightly different meanings. According to an extranet site over two centuries old and consisting of more than a million words in standard human-English. 'fuck' can be used as a noun, verb or interjection though the most common use of the word suggests copulation between two organics either for the purposes of reproduction or sensual pleasure. Hence, 'fucking' is taken to mean the act of sexual intercourse between two organics. For example, we have noticed increased rapport between Shepard-Commander and the Calibrator-Vak– "

"Thank you Legion, that will be enough." Samara finally interjects, still with her normal and composed manner. "I accept your proposition to recount a few of my own adventures if you think it will help you. Please allow me to collect my meal and we can have our discussion as I partake of it." But there some form of rigidness in her tone now, like a peacock whose feathers had been rubbed the wrong way. Hah, Zaeed smirked around the lip of his flask. That sure got that bitch good.

"You are welcome, Justicar. Your contribution to the network is much appreciated." Legion replies politely with a slight bow of his flashlight head. Goddamn, you would think an AI like Legion would recognise vulgarity when it saw one – it didn't know shit. Just look at it, pissing the word all over the place like he was some freaking lame-ass mascot giving out freaking candy to kids. Heh, maybe he could teach it a few more choice words and see how that ran with the rest of the crew –

A soft clink interrupted Zaeed's thoughts as Samara settled herself down at their table opposite him and next to Legion with her tray of what passed as asari stew – looks like fucking rotted pyjack with applesauce, Zaeed inwardly sneered. She primly crossed her ankles and tucked them under her seat before making a strange gesture with her hands, murmuring a prayer to her Goddess. Legion's 'brow plates' raised quizzically at this while Zaeed just rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Very well then, Legion. How do you wish to share this exchange of tales?" she began, picking up her cutlery as she did.

Legion responded promptly, "Hunter-Massani had just concluded an interesting episode in which he escaped a derelict frigate populated by mutated vorcha-hanar hybrids. The method of slaughter of his deceased teammates by their enemies were most intriguing."

"So I guess it's your fucking turn." Zaeed growled, not looking at the justicar. Heh, not like she had anything on him – whatever she did, he could do better. Though that's not to say he wasn't enjoying the view…

Samara's eyes twitched for a moment with some brief expression, but it was gone before he could place what it was. "Very well, then."

"Please feel free to begin whenever you are ready, Justicar-Samara," added Legion, shifting in his seat almost like a person would do to get comf –

No, Zaeed shook his head vigorously, geth couldn't feel. He was being stupid. Blasted piece of machine, screwing with his mind.

Samara's face transformed into a warm smile as she glanced at Legion and Zaeed had to, albeit grudgingly, admit – she was a real beauty when she smiled.

"All right then. Well, let's see…" she murmured, looking pensive for a while. There was silence for some time until Samara finally spoke, "When I was a maiden during my years as a mercenary, we were once tasked with exterminating a cargo ship carrying goods to a batarian outpost in Xamarri. We believed to be managed by a small crew of many six or seven fighters, so only three of us were deployed with minimal arms. My weapon of choice had been an assault rifle, Rosen-kov."

She speared a piece of stew with her fork and popped it delicately into her mouth, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. "When we infiltrated the ship, there was only a small team present in the cabin which we dealt with quickly. We altered the ship's course slightly to crash planetside right into the batarian camp so as to eliminate them as well – our client was keen on it being a clean job."

A piece of what looks like purple carrot passed her lips next. Zaeed feigned boredom, one elbow on the table and a foot on his seat as he pretended to inspect his greaves. Legion was completely still in rapt attention.

"With only ten minutes to spare, we made our way to the cargo hold – the final stage of our mission was to destroy the crates so any survivors wouldn't benefit from them. The moment we entered, I sensed that something was amiss – there was a strange feel about the air. Too silent, too still – even for a deserted ship. The crates were unusually large to be carrying provisions and considering their size, too many for the use of a single, remote outpost.

"Once the doors to the cargohold shut behind us, forty of the crates split open from the inside and me and my two other teammates found ourselves surrounded by forty, hulking, hostile krogan."

At this point, Legion tittered like a human would give a low whistle. "That is quite a reversal of the odds. But it does beg the question of how and why the hostiles were positioned there."

"Indeed," Samara agreed with a smile. "Apparently, the Blood Pack mercenaries had also been hired for the job. It is a common tactic among clients – hire more than one and pay the one that succeeds. It's how mercenaries end up fighting each other plenty of times. Naturally, they weren't very happy to see us, as we seem to have stolen their job and their pay. So they attacked." She had Zaeed's full attention now. Forty bleeding krogan in the close quarters of a fucking cargo hold right smack in the space with nothing between yourself and hell except a shitty Rosen-kov assault and two teammates? And the voluptuous bitch was still here and talking? This had to be bullshit.

"Through use of ammunition and biotics, we managed to keep most of them at bay but they were fast closing in on us and time was running out." she continued. "Our ammunition was also limited as were our options. With the timer at five minutes, things were getting desperate."

"What did you do?"

Zaeed was surprised to hear the question come out of his own mouth, but his companions showed no reaction and Samara now turned her unsettlingly piercing gaze to him. "I noticed that some of the crates were still intact, and I reasoned that those probably held the actual provisions for the outpost." Samara explained. "A common commodity being oil, I thought of the only thing that came to my mind then.

"While my teammates served as a distraction, I blasted open the crates. By chance, the third one contained a vat of cooking oil." Now Samara was smirking conspirationally – it sure wasn't an expression he saw often on that stone-stiff face of her's everyday. "With biotics, I lifted the vat into the air and heated it up. Once it was at optimum temperature, I biotically released the seal and the boiling oil poured over all forty krogan – cooking them alive in their armour."

Zaeed felt his eyebrows rise into his hairline despite himself. From the corner of his good eye, he saw Legion do the geth approximate of the action. Samara continued as if she hadn't noticed. "The smell was putrid and their screams terrible, but it did the job and they all fell dead within thirty seconds. This was very fortunate, as I only had two and a half remaining minutes to spare before the ship crashed into the outpost. I say only I, as my teammates were sadly slaughtered by a krogan warlord while I had been carrying out my plan."

Here, she paused for an almost non-existent moment as if to collect herself. Then she resumed, "I had to climb over dozens of dead, roasted krogan bodies to make my way to the only shuttle. Needless to say, it was an unpleasant experience and I do not wish to repeat again if ever necessary."

"Wait, hold up." Zaeed said gruffly, interrupting her. Samara paused and looked expectantly at him. Legion's lamp-like head turned slowly in his direction as though scowling at him for the interruption. He ignored the geth. "Why couldn't you just use your damn biotics if they were so damn good? Would have made your job a lot easier."

In answer, Samara replied without even a trace of impatience, "As a maiden, our biotic powers are not as developed and we lack the stamina to keep up a continuous flow of biotic energy indefinitely. This is in addition to the fact that I was already worn out from the battle and drained of energy."

"Asari are said to possess only a tenth of their true power at maiden stage, fifty percent at matron stage and hundred percent when they reach matriarch stage." informed Legion. It fell silent before adding, "Though this information is based on asari folklore and lacks legitimate backing as results vary greatly."

"Thank you, Legion. That is correct – we asari have that belief though there is no scientific evidence to prove it." She smiled.

"You are welcome, Justicar-Samara. Please continue."

Somehow, Zaeed had a nagging feeling that the crappy sack of metal wanted to hear the tale more like how a child would want to hear a bedtime story from its parents rather than for the purpose of 'expanding its network'. But he just brushed it off as something in the water that must have made him stupid or something.

"There really isn't much left. With only a minute remaining, I made it to the shuttle and made a swift exit. I did not anticipate however, how low the ship would have already been to the ground and very narrowly missed crashing it into the side of a snow-capped mountain. I managed to avoid collision in time, however and gained my bearings enough to steady the shuttle just as the ship crashed behind me. The resulting explosion was rather… shocking to my already frazzled nerves but it brought a sense of closure that the mission was finally over. So triumphant, I guided the shuttle back to my homeship and reported what had happened to my superiors. I was the only one to make it back alive."

And with that, she finished her food and rose from her seat. "Well now, I really must get going. It was pleasant talking with you Legion, Mr. Massani. I hope we can have equally pleasant chats in the future."

"We thank you for your input, Justicar-Samara." Legion said in response, its face plates shifting as it did that little head bow again. Huh. If he didn't know better, he'd say the machine was a bleeding polite ass-kisser.

As Samara neared the main corridor, she paused and turned back. "Legion?"

"Yes, Justicar-Samara?"

"I ask you to please refrain from using any new words Mr. Massani may pass on to you in the future, including the one you told me about before. It is not a very pleasant word; I doubt the commander would be very pleased about it."

"Acknowledged."

"That is good." she commented approvingly, sweeping back toward Starboard Observation. Before she left his field of vision, she looked back at Zaeed. Their eyes made contact and she delivered him a rather uncharacteristic smirk, before disappearing around the corner.

Zaeed leaned back in his chair again, puzzling over that last action before something hit him so hard he almost lost balance and fell.

"That bloody bitch stole my line!"

Legion looked at Zaeed stomping around in rage as his plates flickering up and down rapidly. "We have observed that organics possess a competitive edge, even across species. New data required for further analysis."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, it's done! :D**

**For those wondering about the wall of numbers for fill#7 where Tali sends a counter-hack message, it's in binary code. Google can very easily point you to a binary translator, if you're curious as to what she said. ;D I'm aware fill#10 is ridiculously long - it just didn't want to finish itself (and kudos if you get the forty krogan reference, shame if you don't :D).**

**On another note, I've finished Winter Be My Witness but am considering splitting the chapter into two, since it's rather long.**

**14/3/2013: Corrected some mainly grammatical mistakes. Thanks, Pie! :D**


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